The One Where Ianto Left Torchwood
by J3d1M0nk3ySp0ck
Summary: title is self explanatory, just a bit of angst that i wrote last week while morbidly depressed... warnings: character death & ANGST!


It was difficult.

For Jack to see Ianto like this; so old. So broken.

To him, Ianto had forever remained the beautiful young man that had walked away from Torchwood; from him, all those years ago.

It had been a surprise to say the least, just an ordinary Wednesday. Except it wasn't.

When Jack had climbed back up to the HUB that morning, instead of finding his young lover in the kitchen making coffee as he'd expected, he'd found a letter stuck to the fridge with that stupid pterodactyl magnet Gwen had got Ianto for Christmas. It had been part of set with stationary and a pen to match...

The note had been brief and to the point. 'It was all too much' he had written, too much death, too much deception, too many secrets.

By the time Jack had reached Ianto's pokey little flat it was too late.

Retcon.

Enough to erase all his memories of Torchwood, Canary Warf, Lisa... And Jack.

Another note, hastily scribbled on a takeaway menu and laying next to an innocuous glass of water that sat half empty on the coffee table.

Two words:

"I'm Sorry."

In the end it was surprisingly easy to let him go; Ianto made sure of that. The meticulous young man created his own cover story complete with a motorcycle accident which accounted for his amnesia. He'd even faked the medical records.

It was easy in the end, because Jack wanted what was best for Ianto. He wanted him to be happy; have a chance at a normal life.

Jack still kept an eye on him though, from a distance. He managed to catch glimpses of his life: Ianto's wedding, the birth of his son, that son's high school graduation. He'd been sure Ianto had spotted him at that one, but the other man never tried to approach him, though their eyes connected for several long moments across the lawn.

Ianto's son joined U.N.I.T and Jack had to chuckle at the irony of fate. But the boy was killed in a terrorist attack and Jack couldn't laugh anymore.

He was certain Ianto spotted him at the funeral but again he didn't approach.

For several years Jack didn't catch any glimpses of Ianto at all.

In fact, he didn't next see Ianto until his wife's funeral. It was a simple service, but beautiful. She had been a professor at the local university and most of the faculty showed up along with several students.

After the service was finished, and the last mourners had left, Jack moved slowly across the cemetery to place a single white rose on the fresh grave.

_Bethan Jones, _

_beloved wife, mother, teacher and friend, _

_you will be missed._

It was three years before Jack saw Ianto next. Three years in which Ianto slowly drank himself to death.

When he learned that Ianto was being commuted to a care facility by his niece who could no longer care for him, Jack took a job as an orderly.

It was difficult for Jack to see Ianto like this. A withered, dried up husk of a man. Age and alcohol had weathered Ianto into a twisted, bitter old man. His once brilliant sky blue eyes, had dulled to a glassy grey, his smooth pale face was now lined by pain; once full lips drawn down in a trembling frown.

Every morning when Ianto would shout that he hated the coffee, the food, the caretakers, Jack would grin and nod his head.

"No you don't, Ianto. Not really."

Most days Ianto would shout and swear all the louder, but some days, good days, he would crack a smile. For a moment his eyes would light up and he was radiant: as beautiful as the night Jack first met him in that park chasing after that stupid Weevil.

Jack lived for those days.

And so one day, it was a Saturday, when Ianto woke up quietly and took his pills without a fuss, not shouting at all, Jack knew.

It was time.

With only a small bit of grumbling, Jack bundled Ianto into a wheel chair and took him for a walk in the garden.

They stayed out there most of the day; a nurse brought Ianto's lunch out and spared a sincere smile for Jack, whom she knew had been off the clock for several hours already.

Ianto ate without a single complaint, though he barely managed to finish half of it. They sat quietly for some time more, neither saying anything.

Jack was staring absently at a fountain, a faint smile on his face, when he sensed someone watching him. He turned to see Ianto regarding him seriously with sharp, focused eyes.

He smiled, dull grey eyes sparking brilliant blue once again, and reached a wizened, shaking hand to gently cup Jack's face.

His fingers were warm and strangely dry where they lingered against Jack's skin; like parchment left to warm in the sun.

Three words:

"Thank you, Sir."

...

As the light slowly faded from Ianto's eyes for the final time Jack smiled faintly and brushed a tear from his face before bringing his hand to rest over Ianto's, where it had fallen in his blanket covered lap.

fin


End file.
